A Night Without Stars (2 page)

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘pig’ before he clamped his mouth shut. I let the insult pass. I have plenty of problems, but body image isn’t one of them. I am more than content with my height to weight ratio. I’ve always been able to eat whatever I wanted without having to worry about adding extra pounds. Just lucky, I guess. That’s me. Queen of Luck.

I know you don’t see the irony in that now, but don’t worry. You will.

Pulling my beat up cell phone out of the back pocket of my jeans I consulted it one last time. It was surprisingly easy to find out how to hot wire a car on the Internet. One site even had step-by-step instructions complete with pictures. “You have the screw driver and wire strippers?”

Travis reached behind him to pat the orange backpack he had slung over both shoulders. I tell the guy to dress inconspicuously and he wears a button down shirt, khakis, and tops it off with the brightest bag known to man. You had to give him an A for effort.

“Okay,” I said, cracking my knuckles. “Let’s do this.”

Two weeks ago we had picked out the car. It belonged to a man who lived in the third house down on the left, a three story semi-detached townhouse with scary little garden gnomes scattered all over the lawn. A gold placard on the front door read
The Livingston’s
in fancy script.

Oh, by the way: if you don’t want your car stolen by a sixteen-year-old with nothing better to do, don’t nail a gold placard to the door with your last name on it. Who are you, the freaking President?

Give me a break.

The Livingston’s drove a 2009 black Toyota Corolla. Kelly Blue Book said it got thirty-five miles to the gallon and was a top safety pick. Whatever the hell that meant.

Side by side Travis and I walked down the sidewalk, trying our best to look like two regular teenagers out for a stroll at eight thirty on a Tuesday night. From somewhere across the street a dog was barking. A woman yelled and the dog shut up. Halfway to the driveway – a short, narrow rectangle of asphalt only big enough for the Toyota – a car pulled up behind us. I felt Travis tense and tightened my grip on his arm. The car’s lights flashed as it swung wide into the other lane and shot past, tires squealing.

“Jackass,” I muttered.

“Do you think they know what we’re doing?” Travis asked nervously. The poor guy was already sweating bullets. I squeezed his arm.

“Calm down. This will be fun.”

“Fun?” he squeaked. “You think stealing a car is
fun
?”

I sighed. “Need I remind you that you agreed to this over a month ago? And besides, we’re not stealing. We’re just… starting. It’s not like we’re going to drive it anywhere.”
Probably not
, I added silently.

“What if we get caught?”

“Then I’ll take the all the blame, just like I told you yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. You know Travis if you didn’t want to come you didn’t have to. I’m not twisting your arm or anything.”

“Uh, you kind of are.”

I looked down to where my fingers were making little red marks on his skin and immediately let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

He rubbed his arm and managed a weak smile. “It’s okay. A little nervous too, huh?”

“I’m not nervous,” I scoffed. “This is going to be easy.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone sitting in jail said too.”

I shot him The Look. He made The Face but stopped talking. We walked right past the Livingston’s driveway, just like we planned, and went to the next street up before we turned around and walked back down. Two teenagers. Out for a stroll. One dressed in black and the other on his way to debate team. Nothing suspicious here.

The Toyota was sitting right in the middle of the driveway. The house loomed in front of it, every light extinguished save the one on the porch. A line of trees blocked our view of the neighbors and, hopefully, their view of us.

I slinked up to the driver’s side door and Travis hovered just over my right shoulder, his breath hot on my neck.

“Okay,” I said, mostly to myself. “Okay. First step is to get into the car without setting off the alarm. Travis, hand me the wedge and the coat hanger.” I held out my hand expectantly. Flexed my fingers. “Travis? Travis!”

“I don’t think it’s locked,” he whispered. “The little nub is up.”

“Of course it’s locked. What idiot doesn’t lock their car?”

“We’re not on the West side, Lola. No one locks their cars here.”

I clenched my jaw and counted to three. “Travis, just give me the damn wedge and–”

Instead Travis reached past me and opened the door. His teeth flashed white in the encroaching darkness. “See?” he said triumphantly. “Told you.”

I bumped him out of the way with my hip. “Whatever. So the Livingston’s aren’t the brightest. It’s not as if they – damn it!”

“What? What? What is it? Is someone coming?” Travis flattened himself against the side of the car and dropped to the ground. It would have been funny if I wasn’t so angry. 

“He left the keys
in
the ignition!” Stupid yuppie East siders with their fancy nameplates and their antique houses and their top safety pick cars. They deserved to have their shit stolen. They really did.

“That’s too bad,” Travis said, making no attempt to disguise his relief. He stood up and made a grab for my elbow. I snatched my arm out of reach.

“No,” I said stubbornly. “We’re not leaving yet.”

“Lola... If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking –”

“I think we said we were going to steal a car,” I interrupted, “and that is exactly what we’re going to do. Now get in.”

“Get
in
?” He gaped at me. “Uh uh. No way. You said we were just going to hot wire it, not drive it. You promised.”

I felt an irrational surge of anger. This wasn’t turning out anything like I thought it would. We were supposed to break in the car, start it, and drive off into the sunset like a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. Why?
Because I can
.

Except now the car wasn’t locked, the stupid keys were in it, and my partner in crime had turned chicken.

Flipping my long black hair behind my shoulder I slid smoothly into the front seat and turned the key. The car started with a quiet purr and my anger kicked over to adrenaline. It pumped through my veins, a better high than any stupid cigarette could give me.

 Rolling down the window I leaned out and grinned at Travis who stared down at me in slack jawed disbelief. “Want to go for a ride, sugar?” I said in my best southern drawl.

“No.”

“Get in, Travis.” It wasn’t a request.

“We are so going to jail,” he whimpered before he ran around the back of the car and more or less fell into the passenger seat. I grinned recklessly as I put the car in reverse and started to glide down the driveway.

“They don’t put straight A students with full scholarships to Princeton in jail, my friend. You’re safe.”

“I don’t want you to go to jail either.”

I glanced over at him. His face was white as a sheet and he had both hands braced against the dashboard, but he was doing it. He was here. I sighed. Damn it.

“What are you doing?” he asked as I tapped the brakes and slid the car into drive at the bottom of the driveway. “Lola? What’s going on?”

“We drove a stolen car, didn’t we?” I said, beyond disgruntled. “Now we’re putting it back. You can add it to your –”

A huge crash from inside the house cut me off mid sentence. Heart pounding, I pulled the car back up to exactly where it had been (more or less) and killed the engine. Travis and I hunched low in our seats. I saw the whites of his eyes flash as he turned his head to glare at me.

“What was that?” he hissed.

“Why are you asking me?”

“We have to get out of here. We have to run. We have to run away and never say a word about this to anyone.”

I sucked on the inside of my cheek, considering our options before I said, “We can’t go yet.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because, dummy, if we open up the doors the little lights will go on and he’ll know we’re out here.” It wasn’t something I had thought about until just this minute. I guess part of me always imagined that Mr. and Mrs. Livingston of 233 Turner Street wouldn’t be home when we tried to steal their car. A stupid assumption, since if they were gone chances are they would have taken their car with them. I really needed to think these things through.

Trying not to panic, I sat up just enough to see the front of the house. All of the lights were still out which was weird, because I knew I’d heard something fall over inside. Maybe they had a dog. Or a giant cat. Maybe they weren’t even home.

“What are you waiting for? Just turn the lights off,” Travis said.

I drew in a deep breath. I had really been hoping to avoid this part. Tilting my head back, I glanced up at the ceiling, hoping there would be some kind of switch like there was in my dad’s car. There wasn’t. “I kind of… uh… don’t know how.”

“Lola,” he said in an oddly strained voice. “What are you talking about?”

Oh boy. “I’ve never exactly driven a car before and I don’t know how,” I admitted. Honestly, it was a miracle I had gotten it down the driveway without hitting something. Travis should have been happy. 

Silence. And then…

“WHAT?”

“Shut up!” In the darkness I found his mouth and slapped my hand over it. It was a good thing it was dark inside the car so Travis couldn’t see my face was the approximate shade of a tomato. “I wasn’t planning on actually driving it anywhere,” I said defensively. “Are you going to be quiet now?”

He nodded his head, which I took to mean ‘yes’, and I slowly withdrew my hand.

“You’re insane,” he said the second his mouth was uncovered. “Absolutely nuts. You told me you got your driver’s license six months ago.”

“I lied. I don’t even have my permit.”

“Don’t even… No permit… Crazy…” He continued to sputter out random words while I snuck another look at the house. Still no lights. That decided it. The Livingston’s were either asleep or not home. The loud noise must have been made by a pet knocking something over. We were in the clear.

“Let’s go,” I said. I opened up the door and shut it silently behind me, holding extra long to the handle so there wasn’t even a click as it went back into place. The lights inside the car popped on, just like I thought they would. I glared at Travis through the window, lifted my arm, and tapped my wrist, a clear signal that time was ticking away.

Travis, being Travis, scrambled across the center console and spilled out of the driver’s side door, landing hard on his hands and knees. Grabbing his elbow, I hauled him up to his feet. He dusted himself off and straightened up, still angry, but at least capable of talking coherently again.

“I hate you,” he said succinctly.

“Where is your backpack?” I asked, ignoring him.

His head swiveled around as he tried to look over his shoulder.

“You left it in the car, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“Go grab it. I’ll keep a look out. Then we are – did you hear that?” I tilted my head to the side and closed my eyes, trying to pin point the direction of the sound.

“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”

“It sounded like… A cry for help,” I decided. My eyes opened. For the first time, I noticed something very peculiar. The Livingston’s weren’t the only ones with all their lights off. In fact, every house running up and down both sides of the street was dark inside. I frowned at Travis. “You really didn’t hear that?”

“I
told
you I didn’t hear –”

But Travis never got finish what he going to say as a blood curdling scream the likes of which I had never heard outside of a horror movie tore through the night.

CHAPTER TWO

I Knock on a Door

“Did you hear
that
?” I asked Travis.

“We have to c-call the police,” he stuttered, looking physically ill. I didn’t blame him. I was feeling a little queasy myself. A human being doesn’t make a noise like that unless they’re in some serious pain. 

“And tell them what? We were about to steal some guy’s car when we heard him scream? No way,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s dumb.”

Travis staggered over to the side of the driveway and sank down on his haunches. “Bad idea,” he said to himself. “I knew this was a bad, bad idea. Lame, man. Really lame.”

“What if we call your mom?” I suggested.

Genuine terror filled Travis’ eyes. “No way. Absolutely not. I would rather go in the house myself.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath and rubbed my hands together. “Let’s do it then. Let’s go. I’ll knock on the front door and you go around back and look in the windows. We can’t just leave without doing anything.”

“I would rather steal the car.”

“Saving a guy’s life from a psycho axe murderer is
so
much cooler than stealing a car. We’ll be famous. The Livingston’s will probably give us a reward or something.” With one hundred dollar bills dancing in from of my eyes I started towards the front door. It wasn’t far from the driveway and the stone walkway was illuminated with ground lights, making it easy navigate. I heard a loud sigh and then the noisy shuffle of Travis’s sneakers as he caught up to me.

“This is such a bad idea,” he complained. “What if there really is an axe murderer or, you know, a robber or something?”

“Then I’ll use my cell and call the police.”

“Why not call the police now?”

“Because we’re right here.” And we were. The front door loomed in front of me, a silent taunt to go ahead and prove my mettle. I raised my fist to knock. Hesitated. Glanced at Travis. “Go around back and see if you can see anything.”

He looked at me like I was nuts. “Don’t you know the first rule of not getting killed by a crazy axe murderer? You
never
split up.”